What’s at the heart of our health crisis?

A Deliberation: How Might We Help Americans Recover Health?

What if health isn’t what we’ve been told—a number on a scale, a pill in a bottle, a fight against a failing body—but something else entirely? What if it’s who we are—holy, whole, gifts designed by a joyful God to live in a “we,” not an “I”? Imagine this: every initiative, every expert, every gadget promising to save us has faltered, not because they lack power, but because they aim at the wrong mark. They see a broken “me” when the truth is a scattered “we”—humans, creatures, earth, aching for connection, not correction. What if the chronic disease epidemic—kids on insulin, adults on edge, land on fumes—isn’t a failure of medicine, but a cry of a reality we’ve refused to see?

Consider this: we’re not unhealthy; we’re not unholy—but we have we participated in desecrating what God made sacred. Wendell Berry whispers it: “The grace that is the health of creatures can only be held in common.” What if health isn’t mine to fix, but ours to live—together, face-to-face, in a community that breathes? Picture a place where you’re seen, known—not a profile, but a person—where hands dig dirt with neighbors, where meals aren’t gulped alone but shared with laughter. What if that’s health—not a cure, but a coming home?

But here’s the rub: we can’t see it. Our eyes are fogged—by screens that shrink the “we” to “me,” by cities that trade soil for concrete, by a diagnosis too timid to name the rift. What if the first step isn’t a program, but a clearing—a chance to see our reality? Not the system’s lie—“You’re broken, buy this”—but God’s truth: “You’re holy, live this.” What if we paused, looked, asked: “Who’s telling me who I am?” Not the ads, not the apps, but the One who says, “You’re Mine—Blessed, Beloved, Whole.” What if that seeing cracked the lie wide open?

Now, deliberate this: if health’s the “we”—a living, loving community—how do we recover it? Not by prescribing or following a formula—God forbid we mimic the machine—but by offering rest, honor, and help. What if we invited folks to a table—not a clinic—where bread’s broken, stories spill, and the earth’s gifts (not junk) feed us? What if we called them to a field—not a gym—where work’s shared, sweat’s real, and the “we” grows food, not profits? What if we gathered under stars—not screens—where we worship as a “we,” not an “I,” and rest is a grace, not a guilt?

Think on this: health’s not lost because we lack skills—it’s buried because we’ve traded them for convenience. What if we relearned the practical—how to grow, cook, mend—with others, not alone? Berry says, “Good work finds the way between pride and despair”—what if that work, done together, is health? Not pride’s lonely tech, not despair’s cheap fixes, but hands joined, cultivating a “we” that remembers who we are—holy gifts, not broken things.

And what of place? “There are no unsacred places,” Berry insists, “only sacred places and desecrated ones.” What if health waits where the “we” lives—near dirt, near kin—not in sterile cubicle cut off from life? Imagine moving closer—literally, figuratively—to the “we,” to Creation. What if kids played in mud, not in a digital world, and adults worked with hands, not keyboards? What if it’s our gathering places “where” we can let us lose the “I” and find the “we” again and again—health now appears as the dance of that finding, of mingling, of many?

We’re not prescribing a pill—we’re offering a seeing. What if Americans recovered health by seeing the “we” they’ve trashed—not with shame, but with wonder? What if we asked, “How am I designed?” and heard, “For this—relationship, gifts, community.” What if we lived it—not to “get” health, but because we are—holy, whole, held in a commnuity that’s bigger than “me”? The epidemic’s not a mystery—it’s a desecration of that truth. What if we were helped not just to see it but live it, not as duty, but as joy?

Ponder this: no system saves us—it’s too proud, too lonely. Health’s the “we” restored—not by force, but by invitation. What if we—started there, with one table, one field, one community? What if that’s enough to wake the rest?